


let 'em talk

by lesbiankavinsky



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Discussion of addiction, Discussion of mental illness, F/F, M/M, also also:, also:, discussion of abuse, discussion of self medication, even gets more fem as noora gets more butch, ever wanted to read about even bech næsheim wearing makeup?, is the basic plotline here, just like fyi, my interpretation of sonja is pretty harsh, noora & even discuss their trauma, so probs don't read this if you like her, so warnings for:, this is mainly about even and noora's friendship and secondarily about the ships, your time has fucking come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 04:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11890266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbiankavinsky/pseuds/lesbiankavinsky
Summary: “You and Sonja. You were together for like, a long time, right? Like it was really serious.”Even isn’t sure where this is going and he’s already getting uncomfortable, but he decides to go with it because Noora looks miserable, and he tries to make a policy of making people less miserable when he can. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we got together when we were fifteen and it lasted -- until Isak.”“And it was shitty. At the end, I mean.” She looks at him now, and there’s a sort of desperateness in her eyes that he’s never seen in her before.Even sucks in his lip. “I mean, it had been shitty for a really long time. It’s a long story.”Noora makes a small sound that’s almost a snort, but there’s nothing cruel in it. “I have a long story, too.”





	1. i'm biting my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Title of the fic and of the chapters from Lorde's "A World Alone," thanks to friends on tumblr for being so enthusiastic about this concept, it means a lot to me. You can find me on tumblr at @psychotic-even-bech-naesheim!

Even and Noora aren’t really friends. Noora’s still living in the closet of Isak’s room and Even is aware that his presence is a nuisance for her, that she usually goes and sleeps on the couch or to Eva’s place when he’s staying over. The two of them will bump into each other in the kitchen or in the hallway of the kollektiv but they don’t talk much. They’re not friends and Even’s never felt like Noora wants them to be friends, so he’s surprised to look up and see her standing in the doorway of Isak’s rooms, arms folded across her chest. 

“Hey,” Even says. “Isak’s not around.”

“I know,” Noora says. “I’m here to talk to you.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long, weird silence and then Noora steps into the room and sits down on the bed, leaving as much space between herself and Even as possible. She’s tense, sitting on her hands, not looking at him. Even waits, wondering how long he should go before speaking up and he’s about to say something when Noora starts talking. “You and Sonja. You were together for like, a long time, right? Like it was really serious.”

Even isn’t sure where this is going and he’s already getting uncomfortable, but he decides to go with it because Noora looks miserable, and he tries to make a policy of making people less miserable when he can. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we got together when we were fifteen and it lasted -- until Isak.”

“And it was shitty. At the end, I mean.” She looks at him now, and there’s a sort of desperateness in her eyes that he’s never seen in her before.

Even sucks in his lip. “I mean, it had been shitty for a really long time. It’s a long story.”

Noora makes a small sound that’s almost a snort, but there’s nothing cruel in it. “I have a long story, too.”

Even looks at her, thoughtful. Isak has said a few things in passing about her awful ex, about how different she seemed before dating him than when she came back to the kollektiv, and he didn’t even know her that well back then. If he can see the difference so clearly, it must be serious. It’s hard for Even to imagine who she was back when she and Isak started at Nissen. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Noora give him an appraising look then pulls her legs up onto the bed and relaxes a bit. “Deal,” she says. “You first.”

Even situates himself on the bed so he’s facing her and tries to think where to start and how much to say. He narrows his eyes and then says, “Not all at once. I’ll tell you a bit, then you tell me a bit. Back and forth.”

“Okay,” Noora says, face impassive.

“So,” he says. “Sonja.”

“Sonja.”

“We got together when we were 15. It like, wasn’t a big passionate thing or whatever. It wasn’t like that. It was just going on a date and then another and then another. And it just didn’t stop. And then, maybe when it should have stopped, it got complicated. Because I got diagnosed with bipolar and she was -- you know, she was there. This was when I was sixteen. It’s not like she was perfect about it. I mean, actually she said some pretty fucked up stuff. But she was there.”

“What kind of fucked up stuff?” Noora asks.

Even breaks out one of his not-quite-real-grins. “Your turn now. You have to tell me why you asked about Sonja.” 

Noora looks at him a while, chewing at her bottom lip before she says, “No one really gets it. Me and William. They want to get it. I can tell they want to but -- I can’t figure out how to explain it. They all think I miss him, that I’m not over him. And that’s not it, not really. I don’t want him back. And I thought you might understand. Because of Sonja. Just -- maybe.”

“I think I might.” There’s a silence. “You know that wasn’t your whole turn, right?”

Noora lets out a big sigh and rolls her eyes and just like that they’re comfortable with one another. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “William. You know, I never wanted to date him. He literally blackmailed me into dating him. He used my friends and he manipulated me and then -- I could never say that! I mean, I could say it and I did but he twisted everything so it seemed like he was the good guy and I couldn’t figure out how to argue with him. Even looking back, I can’t think of what I should have said. It was impossible to think when I was talking to him. I mean, I even said that to him. I knew I couldn’t think with him, and I talked myself into staying. I don’t know how I did that.” She’s looking down at the bedspread, not like she’s about to cry but like she needs to. 

“Okay,” Even says softly. “My turn.”

Noora nods.

“Fucked up things Sonja said. I mean, a lot of times she just told me that I wasn’t really feeling what I was feeling. That it was just mania or just depression. That none of it was real. That I didn’t really want to be religious. That I didn’t really like boys. That I wasn’t really suicidal.” He makes an awful little laughing sound because he’s still not very good at talking about this. “Got proved wrong on that one. I mean, on all of those, really, but, uh. You know.”

“I didn’t,” Noora says.

“Well, now you do.” Even picks at a loose thread in the comforter.

“When I was with William, I couldn’t think past the next day. It was like I didn’t have a future. I couldn’t imagine a future.”

Even looks up sharply. He knows what that feels like. 

“So I just thought about the next day, and then the next day. And nothing I felt was real because William could just tell me I was being irrational, so I just stopped telling him how I felt, and he was the only person in my life so I didn’t tell anyone what I was feeling. So it just started disappearing and every day was numb and gray and empty and --” She stops, puts her hands up over her face. “I think that’s the end of my turn.”

“Okay,” Even says. “Okay. Hey, we can quit talking if you want. We could, I don’t know. Go bake some cupcakes or something. That’s therapeutic.”

Noora shakes her head. “I’ll start crying into the batter, it’s happened before, it’s not pretty.”

Even laughs, which makes Noora smile, too. “Okay, no cupcakes.”

“But you get it,” Noora says. 

“Yeah,” Even says. “I get it. I mean, I don’t think Sonja was like William but. I don’t know, the stuff you’ve said -- it’s all familiar on some level.”

Noora nods. “Sometimes,” she says, “when I get upset, I put on makeup. It makes me feel better. In control, you know?”   


Even nods. “That makes sense.”

“But I don’t want to put on makeup now. I don’t really want to wear makeup at all. I don’t want to be pretty.”

“I can’t relate to that, really, but I think I get it.”

“You want to be pretty?” Noora says with a laugh. 

“I mean, of course.” 

“Maybe we could trade places,” Noora says. “I could wear hoodies and you could wear red lipstick.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Even says. 

Noora gets a peculiar look on her face then, and she says, “Stay here a minute,” then goes into the closet and rummages around for a moment, emerging with a tube of lipstick. She holds it up in front of him. “I could put it on you,” she says, and it’s a strange offer, Even knows, but he can’t bring himself to say no to it, wants, suddenly, to know what he would look like with makeup. So he just nods. Noora kneels on the bed, scooting close to Even with the lipstick to carefully, slowly apply it. 

“Open your mouth,” she says, then laughs. “No, not like that, like --” She demonstrates, and he mimics the form of her mouth as best he can. “There we go,” she says, twisting the lipstick back down and replacing the cap. She grins. “You look nice.” Then she gets that look on her face again. “I could do more. Mascara and eyeliner and stuff.”

Even tries not to seem too eager, just nods. He’s glad he didn’t have to ask. 

Noora returns to the closet and emerges with a little mirror and a bag of makeup, plopping down on the bed with them like her and Even are the oldest of friends and Even can’t stop thinking about the fact that thirty minutes ago their most intimate interaction was the time they had a multi-sentence chat about the weather in the kitchen while making breakfast. It’s a strange afternoon.

“Here,” Noora says, handing him the mirror. “Do you like the lipstick?”

And Even does, he  _ really  _ does and he’s trying to figure out what that means, if it means anything, but he doesn’t have to say anything because Noora is talking to him about what kind of eyeshadow she should use on him. “I’m thinking like, very soft pale colors. You could do a smokey eye if you were really dressing up but you’d have to be careful about it, you’ve got such a delicate look, you know.”

And Even can’t quite say why that makes him so happy, either, but he decides he’s done thinking about it and he’s just going to enjoy this. 

“Okay,” Noora says. “Close your eyes.” 

He does, and feels a brush against his skin. It feels nice, he thinks.

“The problem with being pretty,” Noora says as she works, “is that you can say as much as you want that it’s for yourself, and it really can be, but that doesn’t stop people from looking at you like you’re there for their consumption. You know, William used to tell me what to wear.” She keeps her voice light but he’s not falling for it, even with his eyes closed. He doesn’t know her that well, be he knows this is serious. She moves to the other eyelid. “It’s all such a mess in my head. I can’t explain it, how much I hate remembering him looking at me. But then, if one of the girls tells me I look pretty, that feels nice. I feel like I don’t make any sense.”

“I think that makes perfect sense,” Even says, not opening his eyes, though the brush leaves his skin when he speaks. “You’re safe with them, and you weren’t with him. So it’s different.”

After a brief moment of silence, the side of Noora’s hand settles against his cheek again and she keeps working on his eyeshadow. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, that’s true. Okay, open your eyes.” 

She smiles at him. “Nice. Okay, eyeliner next. Eyes closed again.”

He complies. “Sonja would lose her shit if she saw me wearing makeup,” he says, and he could say more, but he leaves it at that, because that’s the kind of conversation this is -- they’re both happier leaving half of whatever they’re thinking unspoken. 

“Sonja’s not here,” Noora says, and Even can’t help smiling at that. He tries to imagine what Isak would think about it, but that makes his stomach twist with nerves so he puts the thought away. The eyeliner hurts a little bit, pressing against his eye, but it’s not bad. “Eyes open. Look up.” Noora begins to put mascara on him and he tries not to blink. “I think it’s time for both of us to stop not doing things because we’re afraid it would upset someone.”

She leans back and looks him over.

“I’ll stop if you do,” Even says. He expects Noora to just laugh or roll her eyes, but she doesn’t.

“Deal,” she says, and hands him the mirror.

Even looks at himself, and he feels like he should say something to Noora, should thank her, but the words aren’t -- can’t be -- enough. Because he feels like he’s looking at  _ himself  _ in the mirror, and he hasn’t felt that in a long time, not in this visceral way. Instead, he tugs his hoodie off and, keeping his voice as steady as he can, says, “Here, we have to make the swap.” 

Noora takes it, but doesn’t put it on. “This isn’t one of Isak’s?”

Even breaks into a grin. “No, it’s mine. But it’s yours now.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You know the makeup isn’t permanent.”

Even shrugs. “I have plenty of others.”

Noora pulls the hoodie on and tugs up the sleeves. It’s enormous on her, but sort of charming. “Comfy,” Noora says, a small smile on her face as she fiddles with the zipper. “I should go make lunch. But, uh, we should do this again sometime.”

“Deal,” Even says. 


	2. cause we're dancing in this world alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even picks up the scissors and moves to stand behind Noora. “Ready?”
> 
> She takes a breath, and looks at herself in the mirror. She can see red in her eyes that seems to be there all the time and her face without makeup is still strange to her, though she hasn’t been wearing it for a while now. She tries to look through it all to see the person she was a few years ago, and she can’t find that girl anywhere in her features. “Yeah,” she says. “Cut it off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to @kaerlighet for making [this gifset](https://kaerlighet.tumblr.com/post/164635752401/insp) inspired by the fic!! I'm so touched and I love it <3

Noora is sitting on the floor in a corner of the kitchen, knees pulled up to her chest and arms wrapped around her knees. It’s a bad night.

She hears shuffling in the hall and looks up to see Even in the doorway. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

They haven’t spoken since the time a few days ago when she put makeup on him, and Noora thinks they’re probably both trying to work out how to proceed on the new ground built between them. “What are you doing here?” Noora asks, and immediately feels as though she sounds too aggressive.

Even doesn’t seem bothered, though. “Isak’s out with the boys, I’m just waiting for him to get back. What are you up to?”

Noora blinks once, and then decides to tell the truth. “I’m not drinking the vodka in the fridge,” she says.

“Ah,” Even says. He goes to Isak’s shelf in the cupboard and pulls out a bag of chips, then comes to sit near Noora, folding his absurdly long legs beneath him. “Distraction?” He says, holding out the bag to her.

She takes a few chips.

“When I’m trying to keep myself from drinking or smoking, I like to eat. It helps a bit. Or maybe I just tell myself that it helps, and I believe myself.”

“You too?” Noora says, hoping that she won’t have to spell anything out. She likes this about Even, that they both hear the unspoken half of the conversation.

“It’s bad for me. And my therapist says I need to find better coping mechanisms.”

“My therapist says the same thing.”

“They’re funny like that.”

For a bit, the only sound in the kitchen is the crunching of chips.

“You know, I’m not sure this helps,” Noora says.

Even sighs. “Yeah, I’m not sure either.”

“You know what we could do?”

“What?”

“We could shave my head.”

“Oh,” Even says. “Wow, that’s a different direction.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” Noora says. And she has been. She’d seen a woman downtown with a shaved head, wearing a leather jacket and leather boots and she hadn’t been able to get the image out of her head. She wants to look like that, have that air of toughness. Because right now she feels soft in the worst way, like she’s about to go to pieces. Maybe if she could look tougher, she would feel tougher, too. But she just says, “I’m ready for a change.”

“Okay,” Even says.

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I thought you were going to tell me it was a bad idea, or I should think about it longer.”

Even shrugs. “I spend all my energy trying to have impulse control for myself, you can’t expect me to have impulse control for you too on top of that.

“Fair enough,” Noora says.

“You have a razor?” Even asks, wrapping up the chip bag.

“Eskild cuts his own hair, he has clippers.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Right now?”

“You’re trying not to drink the vodka right now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Noora says.

“So, okay.”

“Okay.” Noora gets up and stands in the corner while Even puts the chips away, running a hand through her hair. Even though she’s been wanting to shave it off, it’s hard to think of losing it.

They go to the bathroom and Noora finds Eskild’s hair cutting kit, complete with scissors, clippers, and a comb.

“Okay,” Even says. “How does this work?”

“I think we should cut it short first. I think? I mean, I don’t really know.”

“Okay,” Even says. He picks up the scissors and moves to stand behind Noora. “Ready?”

She takes a breath, and looks at herself in the mirror. She can see red in her eyes that seems to be there all the time and her face without makeup is still strange to her, though she hasn’t been wearing it for a while now. She tries to look through it all to see the person she was a few years ago, and she can’t find that girl anywhere in her features. “Yeah,” she says. “Cut it off.”

Even gathers her hair in his hand and, with a few brutal chops, cuts through it. What remains swings forward around her jaw, a short and messy bob cut. “Do you want to keep this?” Even asks, looking at the mass of hair in his hand.

“No,” Noora says, and he tosses it in the trash, where it looks like a small and very blonde animal. “You know,” she continues as Even picks up the clippers, “I sometimes wish I could cut off my skin, too.” Even goes still. “Not like that – I mean, yeah, kind of like that. But what I mean is, I think about him touching me, and I hate that, and I wish I could have a body he’d never touched.”

Even makes a small noise of sympathy. “If it makes you feel better, you shed your skin all the time. So probably all your skin is new by now.”

Noora smiles at him in the mirror. “That does make me feel a bit better, actually.”

“Ready?” He says again.

“Ready.”

He switches the clippers on and reaches out to brace one hand on the back of her neck. “Is that okay?”

She nods, appreciative that he’d thought to ask. The metal of the clippers isn’t cold against her skin like she’d expected it to be, but it does feel strange as the hair falls away, the steady buzz against her skull. Even’s movements are gentle and careful, and Noora thinks she might be starting to understand what exactly it is that Isak sees in him. Speaking a little louder than she would otherwise to be heard over the sound of the clippers, she says, “You’re lucky. How things worked out with Isak, I mean.”

Looking in the mirror she can see him smile, an small, sweet expression not really meant for her. “Yeah,” he says. “I am. I didn’t expect it to end like this.”

“How did you expect it to end?”

“The usual way. I mean, there isn’t really a usual way, but – I mean, the last time I was in love with a boy the whole thing almost killed me. So I wasn’t expecting this.”

“How did you do that? How did you figure out how to – I don’t know. How did it happen?”

“If you’re asking me for dating advice, you’re making a big mistake. It was a mess. I broke into someone’s house to kiss him in a swimming pool while I still had a girlfriend.”

Noora laughs. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I mean, I asked because. I think I might like a girl. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Even nods, thoughtful, and Noora is relieved that he doesn’t react any more than that. “I don’t think there’s any one thing that you’re  _ supposed  _ to do,” he says. “I know I did plenty of things I wasn’t supposed to do. And like I said, my impulse control is shit so maybe you shouldn’t listen to me on this one but I guess I believe you have to follow your heart.” He keeps working methodically as he speaks, moving the clippers in parallel lines against the side of her head, hair falling down around his hands and onto her shoulder. “I’m a romantic at heart,” he says. “I don’t think there’s anything more important than love, so at the end of the day, it’s hard for me to believe there’s anything that should stop you from giving someone your love, other than their not wanting it.” He moves to the other side of her head. “And I really mean that. At the end of the day, I’d rather die than bury my love.”

Noora takes her breath. “I don’t know about that. I used to say that there was nothing more important than being with William, and that was just – that was just me feeling like there was nothing in my life besides him.”

Even looks up then, making eye contact with her in the mirror and turning off the clippers. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t mean I would rather die than not be with Isak. I love him but – yeah, there are other things in my life. What I mean is.” He pauses, and they watch each other. “What I mean is, I have to honor what I feel. I have to say it out loud. That’s why being in the closet was so awful for me, it was lying about the most important thing in my life, to myself and to everyone around me. I tried to tell Sonja, and she told me I was straight.” He turns the clippers back on, starts working again, like this is something he can’t say if he isn’t doing something else with his hands. “Obviously, I had to be straight, because I was with her. But nothing in my life made sense, and nothing in my heart made sense, and it was killing me. And I just carried that around with me until Isak, and it was the whole thing all over again. I wanted Isak, but I couldn’t want him. But I wanted him too much to tell myself it was nothing, or that I was having an episode, which is what Sonja said. Realizing I’m pan is one of the best things that ever happened, because suddenly – things made sense, you know. I was – am – allowed to feel everything I was feeling. So that’s what I mean, I guess, not that you absolutely have to date every person you ever have feelings for, but – don’t bury it. Here, turn around.”

Noora turns to face him and he begins to shave the top of her head, the last place there’s any hair left. She takes a breath. “I think I’ve been in love with Eva for a long time now. I told Sana and she thinks Eva feels the same way but -- I don’t know. I don’t want to mess things up between us. She’s safe. She’s my safe place, and all my life, love or what I thought was love was never safe. So I never thought it could be love with Eva because I’ve been safe with her from day one. But I’ve been thinking – I don’t want love to be scary. I have to believe that it’s better than that.”

“It is,” Even says, quiet enough that Noora can barely hear him with the noise of the clippers.

“I’m not obsessed with her, like I was with William. But with William it was just obsession, it wasn’t love at all. With Eva – I just want to be with her, I want to be close to her. I can close my eyes with her and things will still be okay when I open them again.”

Even sets down the clippers and brushes some hair off the top of her head. “I think you should tell her that.”

“What if she hates me?”

“She won’t hate you for saying she makes you feel safe and happy.”

Noora bites her lip, looking up at him. “You got so, so lucky.”

Even shrugs. “Yeah, but I got unlucky once, too. And I wouldn’t take that back. I really wouldn’t. You should take a shower, I think.”

Noora looks away then. “Yeah, I should, all the little hairs are really itchy.”

Even moves to step out of the bathroom, then turns back to her to say, “We can talk more about this later, if you want.”

Noora nods and waits for him to leave before stripping her clothes and stepping into the shower. All of it is strange, the lightness of her head, the feeling of stubble under her hands, the hair running off her body, but already she likes this shave-headed self, and she likes it when she steps out of the shower and sees herself in the mirror. Somehow it changes the look of her whole body. She thinks of all the skin she’s shed since the last time William touched her and thinks yes, she does belong to herself after all.

Wrapped in her towel, Noora heads down the hallway to Isak’s room. She hears soft voices and stops, momentarily afraid that Even is talking about her. But it’s Isak’s voice, saying something about Jonas, and she can breathe again. She steps forward and she can see through the doorway Even sitting on the bed and looking up at Isak standing between his knees, moving a hand through Even’s hair. Noora remembers Even’s quiet voice, telling her that love isn’t a frightening thing, after all.

“Hey,” Noora says.

Isak turns and his eyebrows go up. “Whoa.”

“Your boyfriend helped,” Noora says, walking through the room to her closet.

“Hey Noora,” Even says, and she glances back. “I’ll be making breakfast in the morning, if you want to help out.”

She smiles. “Yeah,” she says. “I think that’d be nice.”


	3. people are talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even folds the omelette over and thinks for a long moment before replying. “I really don’t know. I just had a feeling about him. I mean, he’s cute, obviously, but it wasn’t just that, it really wasn’t. It was -- I don’t know, it was the kind of thing that makes me more sure than ever that we all have a sense of, I don’t know, fate or synchronicity or something. I just saw him and I thought, yeah, that’s him. Thank god.” He flips the omelette. “And then I acted really weird until he started paying attention to me.”

Even is cracking eggs in the kitchen for omelettes when Noora appears in the doorway, wearing the hoodie he’d given her and rubbing a hand absentmindedly over her shaved head. 

“Morning,” Even says brightly.

“Morning,” Noora replies. “You’re chipper for 8 o’clock.”

Even shrugs. “I’m a morning person. Always have been.”

“Isak must love that.”

Even laughs his big laugh. “Well, he doesn’t mind having a hot breakfast ready when he wakes up. But that probably won’t be for another few hours, so this is just for us. If you want some.”

“Yeah,” Noora says. “A hot breakfast is good. Can I help?”   


“Sure, if you want. You can cut vegetables,” he says, gesturing to the cutting board.

Noora moves to stand beside him and begins slicing a zucchini. “I like cooking,” she says. “It helps with eating, you know.”

Even nods, though he doesn’t really know. Still, he can guess. “I was thinking,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady because he hates how it wavers when he’s nervous, and he’s nervous now, “I was thinking, if you’re free this morning, maybe we could go to the drugstore. To get some makeup.”

“Oh,” Noora says, but her tone of surprise only lasts a moment. “Sure, I don’t have anything else going on.”

“Okay,” Even says. Neither of them speaks for a moment, and then Even says, “So. Eva.”

“Yeah,” Noora says, and Even decides to leave it be at that if she doesn’t say anything more, but then she says, “I think you’re right. I need to talk to her. No matter what she says I need -- to say it out loud.”

“Okay,” Even says, and leaves the quiet for Noora to fill.

“I was looking at myself in the mirror just now, brushing my teeth and thinking, maybe part of the reason I wanted to shave my head was because I can’t stand to look like a straight girl anymore. Which I think means I’m ready to tell people I’m not a straight girl. Well, I don’t know about ready. But it’s something I need to do, I guess.”

Even glances at her, sees her reaching up instinctively to push back her hair before realizing it’s gone and letting her hand drop back to the cutting board. “I can’t tell you it’s not scary,” he says, reaching for the salt and adding some to his whisked eggs. “Because it is scary, it’s totally scary, but I hope it’s a relief for you. It was for me. I’ve never been very good at burying any part of me.”

Noora nods. Then she laughs and says, “It’s so strange that you’re the first person I came out to.”

Even shrugs. “Not so strange. You’ve only known me a little while, you know I’m not straight either. I’m a safe option. Like, even if I for some reason I was weird about it, it’s not like you have that much to lose with me. With your other friends -- there’s years of history there, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Noora piles the sliced zucchini into a bowl and starts on a tomato. “But I do feel like I have something to lose with you. Even if we haven’t known each other long.”

From the stove, Even glances back at her, trying to gauge her expression, but her eyes are resolutely fixed on the cutting board. Still watching her, he says, “Me too.” After all, he thinks, putting a frying pan on the burner and adding some butter, friendships are generally more about intimacy than about time, and he and Noora seem to have taken some fairly steep shortcuts. 

Even adds the eggs to the frying pan and takes the bowls of vegetables that Noora hands him, the two of them working in tandem as though they’ve done this a hundred times before. Noora hops up onto the counter and sits there, swinging her legs, her heels banging against the cabinets below. “When you met Isak, did you know that you liked him right away?”   


Even laughs. “Honestly? Yeah. I mean, I was a mess, internally, and I don’t think I would have been able to say what I was feeling if you’d asked me at the time, but -- well, I went to kosegruppe because I knew he’d be there, and when I ran into him in the bathroom I was a  _ complete  _ weirdo and then I told him to come outside with me and like, immediately made a joke about blowjobs? After that it’s sort of a blur but I know somewhere in there I like, stared at him while making out with my girlfriend and then almost kissed him and then the whole breaking into someone’s house and actually kissing him in a swimming pool. You know, typical crush stuff.”

He glances back to see Noora sitting with her legs still and her eyebrows raised. Finally she says, “Yeah, typical.”

“I told you my impulse control is no good. Anyway, yeah, pretty much I liked him from the moment I saw him, but I didn’t know how to deal with it so I dealt with it pretty much in the messiest way possible.”

Noora is silent a moment and then says, “What was it about him?”

Even folds the omelette over and thinks for a long moment before replying. “I really don’t know. I just had a feeling about him. I mean, he’s cute, obviously, but it wasn’t just that, it really wasn’t. It was -- I don’t know, it was the kind of thing that makes me more sure than ever that we all have a sense of, I don’t know, fate or synchronicity or something. I just saw him and I thought, yeah, that’s him. Thank god.” He flips the omelette. “And then I acted really weird until he started paying attention to me.”

Noora laughs. Even realizes it’s possible that on this morning alone he’s heard her laugh more than he has the rest of the time that he’s known her. “I’m glad that worked out for you.”

“Me too. What about you and Eva?”   


“Well, I met her at a party where I overheard Ingrid calling her a slut so I told her that girls who call other girls sluts are 90% more likely to get chlamydia and then I joined her russ bus group, though to be fair that was for Sana, who in retrospect I probably also had a crush on -- what!” She breaks off, grinning, when Even starts to laugh.

Even shrugs. “I just think we’re more alike than I thought before. Can you hand me a plate? The omelette is ready.”

Noora passes the plate and goes on. “Anyway, I think with Eva there was some of that immediate attraction you’re talking about but really it’s -- it’s more like I wanted to be her best friend and then I became her best friend and then I realized I wanted something else. Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Even says, setting the plate down on the counter. He pulls two forks from the silverware drawer and hands one to Noora before taking a bite. “I think it happens that way for a lot of people.”

Noora eats for a few moments in silence before saying, “I kind of wish it hadn’t happened that way for me, though. I mean, what you said earlier, about how it’s easier to tell someone something if that relationship isn’t something you’re scared to lose -- that’s really true. I feel like I have so much to lose with Eva.”

“I think you’ll probably still be friends even if she doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Even says, straightening up. “I mean, I haven’t spent that much time around you two, but you’re obviously meant to be together, even if that’s just as friends. And I think -- I don’t know.”

“What?”   


“I mean, I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

Noora stops eating, her fork hovering above the plate. She’s watching Even closely and he feels all of a sudden how important it is for him to manage to say this right.

“Like she’s safe with you,” he says, “but not just the way you were saying the other day that you feel safe with her. It’s like she knows nothing bad will happen to her when you’re around because you’ll always protect her. One time at a party or something I saw you putting an arm around her and she just -- everything about her body language changed, she just became so totally relaxed. It’s like you’re her knight in shining armor.”

Noora’s face has been carefully expressionless, but now her eyes begin to fill with tears. She wipes them away quickly and says, “Good tears, don’t worry, it’s good tears, it’s just.” She takes a deep, slightly unsteady breath, and says, “That’s just all I’ve ever wanted to be, you know? I mean, not all but --” She takes another breath, apparently trying to sort herself out. “It was so awful with William, you know, because I felt so helpless and small and, god, and broken. Like I couldn’t help anyone or anything, least of all myself. And I mean, I know we all have to look out for each other and everything but really, if I can protect the people I love, then I feel protected, too. When I put my arm around Eva, I feel safe, too.”

“Oh, man, you gotta tell her.”

Noora covers her face with her hands, narrowly avoiding poking herself in the eye with her fork. “I know, I know,” she mumbles. Peering out between her splayed fingers, she says, “Drugstore first?”

Even nods. “Retail therapy to soothe your nerves. Or like, proxy retail therapy.”

They finish eating and do the dishes. As Noora towels off the plate, she says, “You can have all my old stuff, too. My old makeup, I mean. I don’t think I’m ever gonna wear it again.”

“Okay,” Even says. He won’t make anything more of the bequest unless she does. 

“I used to think, one day I’ll be better and I’ll feel more okay and then I’ll start wearing makeup again. But I’m starting to get more okay and I’m just not interested. I don’t want to go backwards, right?”

“Right."

“So you can have it. But we can still do that retail therapy.” 

The nearest drugstore is just two blocks away, though their trip is slightly delayed by Noora making it about five steps before going back inside to get a beanie. She punches Even in the arm when he laughs at her. “It’s cold without hair. It’s really cold!”

Standing in the makeup aisle, he’s grateful to have Noora next to him. He’s feeling anxious as it is and he can only imagine how he’d feel if it was him, a boy alone surrounded by lipsticks, looking entirely out of place. Though, he thinks, glancing at Noora who stands with arms folded, looking with intent concentration at the different shades of eyeshadow, he’s no longer sure which of them looks more likely to wear makeup. 

Noora walks him through what colors look best together and what colors will look best with his complexion, what kind of concealer is likely to work best for him, what to wear if he doesn’t want anyone to notice, what to wear if he really wants people to notice. They end up with a sizeable selection of products, and it’s when they’re standing in line that he really starts to get nervous. His hands are sweating badly by the time he gets to the register, and he’s never felt more grateful for the bored apathy of cashiers than he is now, as he’s rung through without attention and without comment. He feels wonderfully light as they head back toward the flat, the plastic bag swinging from his hand.

“Have you talked to Isak about it?” Noora asks. “About wanting to wear makeup and…”

She trails off and Even isn’t sure what was supposed to be at the end of that sentence. He’s not sure Noora knows either.

“No,” he says. “I’m not sure I want to yet. I’m not sure what I’d say.” He pauses, wondering how much to put into words of Isak’s lingering discomfort with getting read as gay, the offhand comments he’ll make from time to time about his or Even’s appearance or voice or movements. The certainty he has that Isak is getting better about this serves in part to prove that he notices it, and he notices its absence, too. He sighs. “He’s got his own stuff to work through but sometimes it sort of bleeds onto me, you know?”

He’s not sure he’s explained it well, but Noora nods. They get back to the apartment building and Noora unlocks the door but she hangs back when Even steps inside. “I think I’m going to head over to Eva’s,” she says. 

Even smiles and nods. “Good luck, okay? It’s gonna be fine, either way. I promise.”

Noora breathes in and out, a quick, sharp breath. “Yeah,” she says. “It will be. And hey -- if you decide to talk to Isak, that’ll be okay, too. Promise.” She turns to go and Even begins up the stairs, wrapping the plastic handle of the bag tightly around his wrist.


End file.
